


the ashes in our wake

by unraelated



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Catharsis, Definitely not healthy, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sub!Dimitri, Suicidal Ideation, Whipping, dom!felix, glenn is discussed, inappropriate use of crests, ive written two bloodplay fics in the last month im getting worried for myself, please dont skip the whipping tag, post-azure moon ending, too much prose, undernegotiated sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unraelated/pseuds/unraelated
Summary: Dimitri wants to know what will mend his relationship with Felix. Felix thinks that he isn't prepared for the answer- but Dimitri proves him wrong, as usual.





	the ashes in our wake

The room is empty, little more than a jail cell in the deep recesses of the fortress in Fhirdiad. Felix has waited outside of the cold room for the better part of an hour, his fingers sliding thoughtfully over the braided leather at his belt as he musters his courage for what he's about to do. 

Dimitri is inside, he knows. The king of Fódlan has agreed to meet him here forty minutes ago and he hasn't come out yet, which can only mean he's been waiting this whole time. If nothing else it shows that Dimitri was serious when they spoke of this, and while Felix knew he was at the time, experiencing the full weight of Dimitri's drive gives him a different kind of conviction, one that he thinks can carry him through this so he can give Dimitri what he needs. What they both need.

He's going to push him further. He's going to push him past anywhere he's ever gone.

Felix finally, slowly unbuckles the leather strap at his belt that holds the rolled-up whip and steps into the room.

-

_"Is there no mending our wounds? I want this to change. I want us to go back to the way we were."_

_Dimitri's fingers were caught on his sleeve, delicate and strong. Felix looked at them for a moment before sneering in disgust, shrugging them off of him with a shake of his head._

_"Don't be naive. You did this. You deal with the consequences."_

_"How can I prove to you that I don't want to be the monster you say I am?"_

_He'd been desperate then- for forgiveness, for Felix's approval and, Felix knew, for some kind of punishment. Everyone in Faerghus had looked the other way in the light of Dimitri's atrocities, ready to forgive anything if it meant having a Blaiddyd leader on the throne._

_Felix was not everyone. And as such, he was the only one that mattered._

-

Dimitri is there. Felix knew he would be, but some part of him had been hoping that he was wrong.

The royal king of Faerghus- no, of all Fódlan- hangs by a chain tied between manacles on his wrists, suspended from a wicked-looking hook that descends from the ceiling. He's low enough that his feet still touch the ground and so he's not dangling, but even just standing like that with his arms hanging above his head has to be hell on his blood flow.

He's shirtless, Felix notes, and smartly so. Like this, Felix can see the scars tracing long and angry lines across his back and torso. He tells himself that he feels no sympathy, that Dimitri has brought this pain to himself but in his heart he feels a twinge of sadness to see the boy he knew mangled like this. 

Felix shakes his head, ridding himself of those feelings. How can he ever hope to proceed if he feels _bad_ for Dimitri?

The king is facing away from the door, as is customary. At the sound of it finally opening, Dimitri's head tilts up in alarm and maybe a little surprise that Felix has finally shown. Darkly, Felix wonders how long he would have waited if he'd chosen not to come.

Dimitri inhales and opens his mouth to speak, but Felix cuts him off before he gets the chance.

"This is the last warning you'll get, boar."

His tone is practiced, icy. Felix opens his fingers and the weighty cord of the whip falls to the ground with an impact that sends a shudder down his spine. He continues, regardless.

"I won't go easy on you."

Dimitri nods, letting go of whatever he was about to say and flexing his fingers, usin his powerful arms to pull himself up higher, to stand up straighter. Felix watches him like a predator and lifts his hand.

He'd practiced this earlier, but he's still unaccustomed to using a whip. Luckily, so many years of swordsmanship practice has given him a decent place to start. It's made his arm strong, his shoulders steady, made him acutely aware of every bend and shift he can do to angle his blade in a slightly different way. 

Using a whip, he's learned, is similar in some ways. It requires more strength than he'd thought at first, you have to put your whole shoulder into it if you really want to strike hard. The elbow has to be bent at the right angle and then pull back. The wrist has to be flexible and strong to _snap_ and let the momentum of the steel-tipped rope rip through the target.

The distance had to be right. Too close and you hit with the body of the cord. Too far and you miss your target entirely.

It would have been easier, he thinks, just to _beat_ Dimitri savagely with the brass knuckles he'd gotten from the armorer. But Felix has always refused to do anything by half measures and this feels more important than anything he's ever done. It feels more appropriate anyway, more like a punishment and less like losing control, which Felix hates more than anything. Like this, with Dimitri organized on the hook and Felix composed behind him, he can pretend that he didn't come here to feed his own feelings of rage, resentment, pain. He can pretend he doesn't feel that way at all.

He strikes.

The first lash misses the bulk of Dimitri's back and instead lances across his ribs instead, etching a mark into the more delicate skin of his side. For all that he'd prepared himself for the pain, Dimitri still gasps on shock at the location, at the exact way it spreads like fire through him, and jerks away instinctively. 

The hook holds, and Felix adjusts his grip, watching as the mark grows red and angry, a small cut at the very center where he'd hit him true. It begins to ooze blood, slow and sluggish. It hadn't hit him nearly hard enough, Felix thinks, distasteful. He needs to do better.

"...how many?" Dimitri asks, and Felix hates that his voice sounds _curious_ more than defeated. 

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, Felix takes a quarter step forward, rolling his shoulder back, and strikes out for the second time. 

It rings true- truer than it had on his first attempt- and scores a sudden and bright line down Dimitri's back, across one shoulder, over his spine, and down over the muscles that he uses to fight with lances as heavy as he does. This time, the way that Dimitri arches is more prominent, his feet rising up to his toes as he pulls at the hook above him. Dimitri's breath comes out in a jagged gasp at the bright shock of pain and Felix watches with a little more satisfaction as the mark begins to bleed. 

"I don't know," Felix finally responds, which is the truth. "As many as I want."

It takes Dimitri a moment to respond, to process the sudden bright flash of pain and set it aside so he can focus on what Felix is saying. If he has any arguments he doesn't voice them, even though he must be just now realizing the kind of mess he's gotten himself into. 

"As you say."

Does he truly want punishment this badly? Is this some form of twisted penance? Felix doesn't know but the thought makes him even angrier- angry enough to whip him again, the leather singing through the air and slashing once more into Dimitri's skin.

Dimitri has no gentle response or question in response to that and jerks instinctively like he's trying to get away, hissing out the pain between his teeth. Felix gives him no reprieve and hits him again. Again.

Again.

"-I'm sorry!"

Dimitri finally cries it out, his knees threatening to give out from under him. The sudden cry is enough to make Felix stop, letting the whip rest in the ground. The steel tip of it, he notes, is red with blood.

"What are you sorry for?" Felix asks, and they both know that the question is a trap.

Dimitri gingerly gets his feet back under him and moves to stand now that he's been given a moment to recover. Felix looks at the six lashes he's given him so far with a sense of detachment and he lets his mind drift the way he always does when he's confronted with something so ugly and so brutal. 

There'll be a chance to be horrified at what he's done later. A chance to wonder if he's really any better than the boar he claims to hate. For now, he must focus on the act.

"For… for disappointing you," Dimitri finally gasps, his fingers folding into fists. "For letting you down. I should have been stronger for you- I should have been better."

Felix doesn't know what to do with that, but it rears something ugly in him, some emotion he doesn't want to name but which feels so tenderly close to misery. 

He hits him again, across the shoulders this time and feels a sick satisfaction in the way it makes Dimitri cry out. 

"Try again."

He doesn't know what he wants Dimitri to say, not really. But Felix is looking for something, and he thinks that he'll know it when he hears it. Even if he doesn't, then he can still wrest some sordid pleasure from doing this. It’s something that he thinks he’ll hate himself for later, but for now he devotes himself into this vile, hideous thing that he’s felt in the pit of his stomach since he was fifteen and he’d first seen Dimitri cleave a man in two.

Dimitri’s breath is trembling, blood dripping from the crude slashes across his back. Felix watches him collect himself again, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry for Rodrigue. I didn't mean for him to- I never wanted him to-"

It's the wrong thing to say. Felix grits his teeth and hits him again, cutting off Dimitri's confession with a frustrated grunt, drowned in Dimitri's choked-out scream.

"- he took me in!" Dimitri yells, his voice breaking, "he replaced Glenn and I should have stopped it- I should have-" 

Felix _burns_. He feels himself moving in slow motion, like he's separate from his body, but he feels so fucking _present_, so aware of what he's doing even if he can do nothing to stop it, even if his body moves of it's own accord.

The crest of Fraldarius surges, sings in his blood, and he _carves_ a line into Dimitri's back with the whip. 

Dimitri screams.

Felix doesn't look up, he doesn't dare to move from where he's just struck his king with his crest, the same amount of force he's used to slice a man's heart through a breastplate. His arm is still extended though the whip lies limp on the floor. After a moment, in which Dimitri's scream fades into soft, whimpering sobs, Felix drops it and it hits the ground with a dull sound.

"...it should have been me," Dimitri is whispering, completely limp against the hook as the blood from his back drips to the ground. "I should have died. I wish I did."

Felix swallows around the lump in his throat and drinks in the image before him: Dimitri wrecked and bleeding, hanging from the ceiling with his head bowed down, his shoulders trembling with the sobs that wrack his body. He needs medical attention soon. It's a miracle he hasn't already passed out. It's a miracle he's survived this at all.

The familiar sting of sympathy rises in him again and Felix tries to quash it. He looks at Dimitri and feels- nothing. No rage, no disdain. Whatever hatred he'd held in his heart, he feels as if he's burned it out, like an extinguished candle that smoulders but won't light again.

His shoulders go slack. He closes his eyes and thinks about leaving then, about letting Dimitri collect himself and take care of his injuries, but he steps closer instead. The distance between them feels like an eternity, but Felix makes the pilgrimage silent and still feeling numb. It's a different kind of numbness than what he felt when his crest activated- its the mind-clearing numbness that comes with complete and utter catharsis. 

His gloves brush against Dimitri's side and Dimitri doesn't react at all. Maybe he can't even feel them against the fire on his back. Holding Dimitri steady on either side, Felix pushes in further, guided more by instinct than anything else, some primal urge in him that recognizes things like warmth, touch, closeness, comfort. 

"You did die," he whispers, his voice hoarse. 

Then, finally, Dimitri shudders.

"And you hated me for it."

Felix looks down at the roadmap etched into Dimitri's back. He can see the deeper line where his crest activated on that last strike, a dark and ugly red for a dark and ugly emotion. 

It's an oversimplification of his feelings and of their relationship, but he thinks that Dimitri knows that and so Felix relents, reaching up to tug the glove off of his right hand with his teeth.

"I did."

"And- do you still?" Dimitri grits out through the pain. He tries to go tense when Felix touches him but that only aggravates the wounds further and he winces, his head lowered down.

Felix slides his fingers through the blood on Dimitri's shoulders, dully fascinated by it- _he did this_. Dimitri let him do it. Dimitri never once asked him to stop.

"...no."

Down here, in the dungeons of Fhirdiad, they’re both beasts, Felix realizes. Whatever Dimitri is, whoever he was- he brought Felix to this, where all of his careful anger and icy glares boiled over into a fire that neither of them could control.

He tried to fight it for so long, the injustice of it all, the anger, the knowledge that he could never hope to fix this terrible mess that happened around him. Now, against his king, Felix gives in and lets Dimitri drag him down to be a monster with him. 

His lips press against the knob of Dimitri's spine at the base of his neck. The coolness of his mouth must serve as a warm contrast to the burn of the whip marks because Dimitri sighs into it, his eye still closed. He doesn't react otherwise.

Felix moves closer and Dimitri hisses at the first brush of buckles and fabric against his tender wounds. His hands drift down to Dimitri's hips, curling his fingers around his hipbones and holding him securely in place.

"I never once wished it was you instead of him." Felix admits in a barely-audible whisper, as if Glenn is still in the room with them both and Felix doesn't want him to hear. 

In a way, he is. Glenn will always be hanging between them both like a shadow.

"I know you wished that," he continues and Dimitri is still, so still. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that he was passed out already. "But I never did."

Dimitri makes a soft sound, acknowledging it processing it, barely able to think clearly through the sudden buzzing endorphins of the pain as the sting of it begins to fade into a low ache.

"...I would give anything to bring him back to you."

Felix closes his eyes in a shudder, his fingers tightening on Dimitri's hips. He wants Glenn back, they both do, Ingrid does, Sylvain does. Instead they're all stuck with Felix, a surly and sharp boy who lives his life in sharp contrast to all of the chivalry and knighthood that Glenn represented. 

It doesn't feel fair. He thinks that maybe Dimitri feels the same way, that they're stuck with this feral beast of a king instead of Glenn.

"He can't come back," Felix finally states, with more finality in his tone than he feels. He's always hated this kind of sentiment, the _if I could_ and the _I should have_. It's not real, it can't happen, and wishing it could just hurts more. 

He wants to drive that into Dimitri, who is so fragile because of those longings, who let those feelings of _if_ and _should_ destroy him.

"You can, though. I've wanted-" his mouth feels dry, it's hard to form the words, and Felix takes a breath and closes his eyes, somehow feeling the more vulnerable of the two despite Dimitri hanging from a hook, half naked and beaten within an inch of his consciousness. ".... I've wanted you back for so long."

Dimitri turns his head to look behind him, shocked by the sudden admission. Felix is so close that the sudden movement jars him and knocks Dimitri's cheek against his nose. He moves back a half inch so he can look Dimitri in the eye and his king searches his expression from his limited vantage point.

Felix doesn't know what he's looking for and he feels weak under such scrutiny but he won't let himself back down.

Whatever Dimitri wanted to find, he thinks, he found it because his expression goes soft and tender with understanding. 

"I'm here," he says, and kisses him.

_  
For all that he has been pressing close to Dimitri for the last several minutes, his fingers on his hipbones, his chest against the bloody canvas of his back, his mouth against his spine, Felix isn't expecting a kiss. He goes still with it, startled and numb and he thinks- _Dimitri_.

He thinks- _it's you._

Dimitri gets his feet under him for more leverage and presses in closer, deepening the kiss and Felix doesn't stop him. To his own surprise, Felix finds that he kisses him back, his hands go tight on Dimitri's hips and he holds him steady while he steps in closer, back to chest, anticipating and relishing the taste of pain on Dimitri's mouth when he presses tightly into his injuries.

The kiss breaks. The position puts Dimitri's neck at an awkward angle so he sags his head down again, catching his breath and Felix stares down at the back of his neck. 

He's felt Dimitri's body against his so many times. In training, when they would tackle and wrestle and fight one another after someone was disarmed, in playful bantering moments with Dimitri's arm slung over his shoulder and Felix hissing like a wet cat and pushing him away, in battle with Dimitri holding onto Felix and walking him gingerly back to camp when he'd taken an injury to the leg. 

Never like this, where he can feel the push and pull of Dimitri's powerful body against him, where he can touch whatever he wants and Dimitri will let it happen. 

Where he _wants_ to.

Felix leans down again, gently pressing his mouth against the back of Dimitri's neck and sliding down toward his throat. Dimitri doesn't protest. Felix can taste his skin, the sweat that comes from enduring such pain, the softness of it, and when Dimitri bares his throat willingly, Felix feels like the most powerful man in Faerghus- no, in all of Fódlan. 

There's no sound in the room save for Dimitri's soft gasps and the slick noise of Felix's tongue working against his skin. He moves his hands from his hips to wrap fully around him, his right hand, the one without the glove, pressing a bloody handprint against the center of Dimitri's chest.

"I thought about-" Dimitri gasps, the pleasure and pain of it mixing together until he can't tell which is which anymore, "-about you, in the years I was gone."

Felix kisses his neck, his shoulder, as his hands blindly map out the expanse of Dimitri's chest. He's well-muscled, covered in a myriad of scars, and Felix maps out each one with his fingernail, enjoying the way that it makes Dimitri's breath go shaky.

"-about how angry you'd be with me."

Felix hums, dipping his head down to taste the very top of one of the lash marks on Dimitri's shoulder, inhaling the coppery scent of blood and feeling it against his tongue, metallic and warm.

"I thought about you wanting to kill me. Not being able to bring yourself to do it. Your sword at my throat. Your hand-" 

Felix presses his hand down further on a whim, too far all at once, and feels hardness through Dimitri's pants.

The tone shifts between them.

"I'm-" 

"-if you apologize to me, I'm leaving," Felix warns, and doesn't move his hand. Dimitri whines softly- he doesn't have a lot of room to move his hips, given how tightly he's suspended, but he tries all the same in sloppy, abortive movements.

Dimitri doesn't need Felix to say the rest, the implication _but I'll stay if you don't_ is clear enough.

For his part, Felix feels at him, scientific and curious in his motions as he catalogues this new part of Dimitri he's never seen. It's thick, heavy and insistent against the front of his pants, and Felix touches him like this until he's fully mapped him out, cautious but insistent.

Just knowing what he's doing to him, how Dimitri feels, makes Felix light up with something hot and heady and distantly he thinks he feels himself growing hard as well, just from having Dimitri like this, seeing him like this.

Felix grunts, reaching his left hand, the gloved hand, up to Dimitri's mouth. There's a pause like Dimitri is confused at what he means by that, but eventually latches his teeth over the finger of it, careful not to bite down on flesh, and Felix pulls his glove away, leaving it hanging in Dimitri's mouth. He wants both of his hands here.

On a whim, he says, "don't drop that," and he can _feel_ the reaction he gets from that- Dimitri lights up, electric, and his cock twitches against Felix's palm, but all he does is nod and adjust to take more of Felix's abandoned glove in his mouth to hold it more securely. 

Like this, Dimitri can't speak and Felix finds himself brutally satisfied by that and moves to touch him again. When he shifts back to get a better grip, his clothes offer up a meager resistance, stuck to Dimitri's back by his congealing blood.

He pulls back anyway and Dimitri moans in pain as the beginning stages of his scabbing is crudely torn away. 

_Fuck_, he's covered in blood. It stains the front of Felix's clothing, smears over Dimitri's skin until the entire expanse of his back is pink and red, hangs heavy in the air between them like rust, and he's never been this hard in his life.

Felix presses a hand down against himself- partly to feel the extent of what this is doing to him, partly to ease some of the pressure, and forces himself to breathe. Like this, Dimitri can't see him and it makes it all the sweeter when Felix kicks out to knock his feet out from under him.

Dimitri falls, his weight suddenly slamming onto his aching shoulders and he opens his mouth a fraction to cry out before remembering and clamping harder on the leather of Felix's glove while he finds his footing again. Felix watches him, far from disinterested now, and moves closer again to get his arms around him.

"I've got you," he reassures, lifting again, helping Dimitri get back to his feet, "that was cruel. I won't do it again."

He nods weakly and Felix uses the opportunity to touch him, incensed by the fact that his cruelty hadn't diminished Dimitri's arousal at all- if anything, he feels even _harder_ and Felix's head swims with this heady power before his fingers start working at the tie on Dimitri's waistband.

"I know you can get yourself off the hook whenever you want. You drop my glove and I'll stop."

It's gentler than he means to be but he thinks that they both need rules right now, before he gets his hand on him, before Dimitri gets too far into his own head. Felix continues:

"This isn't- some sick form of penance or whatever. If I find out that you think you owe this to me, I'll cut your heart out of your chest."

Dimitri shakes his head and draws in a deep inhale as Felix finally gets his pants open, refusing to hesitate before he presses his hand lower to get his fingers around him. It's a rush, a warm savage rush, feeling the most intimate part of his king, the man he's loved, then hated, then loved again, skin to skin. It makes Felix's mouth run dry and his own pants tighten again at the low rumbling sound that Dimitri makes around his leathers. 

He needs- Dimitri can't exactly help him and so Felix brings his other hand back, reaching down to palm at himself and eventually to loosen his own pants. He doesn't know what he's going to do, he doesn't know what Dimitri _wants_ him to do, but he knows that he's rapidly losing every stable thought in his mind as he finally frees himself from the confines of his pants with a sigh.

Dimitri squirms against him, a crude reminder that he's still touching him, not moving, that Dimitri is desperate for it and what else can Felix do but oblige?

He licks at the cut on his shoulder again, intentionally pressing his tongue against it to draw blood and to hear the sharp inhale through Dimitri's nose while his hand slowly begins to move.

Felix strokes him, unhurried, fondling at his cockhead and learning every inch of him, similar to what he'd done before and Dimitri makes an uncomfortable sound, his nostrils flaring as he tries to move, to encourage Felix to hold tighter or push harder.

Felix does neither of those things. Instead he presses in close again, hooking his chin around Dimitri's shoulder and feeling the wetness of blood against his chest as he bites a mark into his throat. 

Like this, pressed against him, Felix can feel the curve of Dimitri's ass against his dick and he thinks- _oh._

He lets out a puff of breath against Dimitri’s throat and Dimitri can feel it too, Felix can feel his spine arching against him and again, he feels stronger than anyone he’s ever known. For Dimitri to trust him like this, to let him do this, to _want_ him to do this- it makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst from beating so hard and Felix latches his teeth onto Dimitri’s shoulder again while his spare hand goes once more for the hem of Dimitri’s pants.

There isn’t- they can’t- as much as Felix has regrettably learned that he _likes_ hurting him, he won’t fuck him without something to ease the way, and while his mind helpfully suggests _blood_, Felix vetos that intrusive thought immediately.

Instead, he thinks _he’s so much taller than me_ and something goes tight in the back of his throat.

“Hold still,” he commands and Dimitri obeys as best he can, swaying lightly on his feet but Felix knows that he can’t quite help it.

He moves to shove Dimitri’s pants down fully. Not far, he doesn’t need them to be all the way off for what he wants to do, but down to his powerful thighs, scarred and heavily muscled and just feeling them makes Felix want- he wants-

“Stand up straight.”

Dimitri’s brows furrow in confusion but he does as he’s asked, feeling vulnerable and hopelessly exposed and Felix doesn’t waste time or mince words- he wraps a hand around his cock and presses in close, letting out a soft _ah_ when he finally slots in against him, sinking his dick into the warm spaces between Dimitri’s thighs.

“Push- push your legs together.”

Dimitri, understanding what Felix is doing now, does just that, leaning up on his toes as much as he can, taking his weight on the hook so that he can give Felix what he needs, and what he needs is _this_, it’s good, it’s warm and soft and vulnerable, and when he pushes in deeper, slotting his hips just below the curve of his ass, he feels the heavy weight of Dimitri’s balls nudging against his cockhead.

“Nnh- “ He can’t speak, but Dimitri still lets out a ragged noise of pleasure and without skipping a beat, Felix moves back against him, a hand on his hip and the other wrapping warmly around his cock.

“Come on, boar. Give me- “

His first thrust nearly drives Dimitri off of his feet and the other man makes a startled sound, balancing carefully on a heel and whining low in his throat when Felix rewards him with a long and sure stroke of his fingers. The second thrust, Dimitri is more prepared for and braces himself, allowing him to be the solid thing that Felix strives against, seeks his pleasure from, _fucks_ in this flinching, awkward way.

It doesn’t matter. The more he thrusts against him- slipping up against his ass at times when Dimitri loses his footing, sliding hotly against his hole and _wanting_ with an intensity that startles him- the more Felix thrusts, the easier the slide becomes, wet with precum and steady with their learned practice.

“_Fuck_.”

It’s good. It’s _so_ good and Felix wonders how it would feel if he could actually be inside of him and that thought- fucking his king, doing it differently next time, _better_, with Dimitri tied to the bed and bleeding from bitemarks- _that_ thought makes him lose control of his thrusting and Felix ruts against him like the animal he claims to hate so much.

He doesn’t forget his fingers on Dimitri’s cock, either. Though it’s not the best handjob he thinks he can give, it’s still attentive, firm, uncompromising as Felix slams his hips into him and he knows it’s good because he can _feel_ the flexing of Dimitri’s powerful thighs against him, the twitching of his ass and goddess, he wants- _next time_-

Felix scores his teeth down Dimitri’s back, sliding painfully against the lashes and tasting blood, feeling it smear across his face as he comes, groaning softly and pressing his forehead into Dimitri’s spine as he thrusts helplessly against him.

Distantly, he hears Dimitri cry out, hears the _thump_ of his glove hitting the ground as Dimitri finally lets go of it when he comes, his entire body rippling with the heat and intensity of it and it only makes it _better_ as Felix empties himself between his legs.

They stand there like that for a moment.

Felix’s legs feel like jelly and he knows that Dimitri’s must feel worse, that he’s really done a number on him now and Dimitri is going to need time to recover- but when he looks at him, seeks out his face, all he can see is Dimitri’s contented exhaustion, his visible eye closed and his mouth hanging open to take in breath after ragged breath.

He has to pull himself together quickly. He knows this- he knows that Dimitri is still injured, that Dimitri could have been hurt worse by their haphazard sex, and he’s filled suddenly, with the rush of desire to take care of him.

“Dimitri…”

Dimitri opens his eye lazily, looking toward Felix and Felix doesn’t know what to do first, how best to help him. He figures it’s best to start with pulling his pants up and after a moment’s hesitation, pulls Dimitri’s up as well, his nose wrinkling at the sticky substance between his legs as he recalls their moments of passion just a few minutes ago.

Eventually he reaches up and gently slides Dimitri’s handcuffs off of the hook above them both and he doesn’t envy the other man when he has to lower his stiff and painful arms. Dimitri gasps in the pain of blood flow returning to his muscles and staggers back, no longer supported by the ceiling.

Felix catches him as best he can before tumbling to the ground, easing Dimitri’s way but still crashing somewhat uncomfortably against the stone.

“Shit- sorry.” He curses, getting his arms on him, trying to keep the pressure off of his wounded back. “I didn’t mean to-”

Dimitri grunts in acknowledgement but otherwise says nothing, curling into Felix like a dog resting against its master. Darkly, Felix thinks that the analogy might be an apt one, but he pushes the thought away before he can analyze it more- if the last half hour in this room has shown him anything, it’s that they’re both beasts.

The front of Felix’s jacket is covered in blood, as is his face, as is Dimitri’s back, and they smell like… well, like exactly what they’ve been doing. He frowns.

“My quarters are closer and I have some bandages there. If we can get your shirt on, I’ll get you back there and take care of this.”

That gets Dimitri to open his eye, leaning back slightly, just enough to look at him.

“You would do that for me?”

It cuts, likely deeper than Dimitri means it too and Felix supposes that he can’t blame him. When he walked into this room, he was intending on whipping him and leaving him to the rats- or rather, leaving him to pull himself off of the hook and get his injuries taken care of by a servant who wouldn’t ask questions.

Now, the very thought is unbearable. Now he has _Dimitri_, looking up at him the way he used to look at him, and Felix feels his heart trembling as he reaches up to brush the hair back from his face.

“Don’t act surprised. I’m responsible for this.” There’s a pause, and he adds- “for you.”

Dimitri may have argued it at another time, but now he just nods, shifting his legs together and feeling the evidence of Felix’s promise sliding uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants.

“...to your quarters, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> me: i could probably end it before they kiss and wind up with a really nice catharsis for both of them  
also me: but then how would i write porn
> 
> follow me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/unraelated) to talk to me about all of my gross shipping feelings


End file.
